The night is young
The day is old
Wishing for a sign
Chills in my soul
Partially awake
Yet mentally sleep
Sweat drips down
Ice cold feet
Can’t hear any sounds
Yet within screams
Looking in the mirror
Reflection can’t be seen
Breathing hard
But gasping for air
Reaching for it
But it is not there
Beating heart
So shattered and weak
Pumping a fluid
That rejuvenates me
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust
So close to death
I can feel her touch
The Awkward Butterfly: http://amzn.com/B00EP5A484
Facebook: http://facebook.com/TheAwkwardButterfly
My Blog:
Blog: http://monicarenata.blogspot.com
Blog: http://monicarenata.blogspot.com